


abhyudaharana

by AllegoriesInMediasRes



Series: Ramayana fics [34]
Category: Ramayana - Valmiki
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Angst, Canon Compliant, Established Relationship, F/M, Oneshot, Regency
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-07
Updated: 2020-09-07
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:21:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26334817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AllegoriesInMediasRes/pseuds/AllegoriesInMediasRes
Summary: There is little Mandavi enjoys about ruling as interim queen, but she has come to look forward to this part: to speaking with Ayodhya’s common folk as an equal and not as a princess, to knowing that her subjects’ lives are bettered by her work, to seeing it with her own eyes.abhyudaharana (Sanskrit): example or illustration of a thing by its reverse
Relationships: Bharata/Mandavi
Series: Ramayana fics [34]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1105638
Comments: 10
Kudos: 9





	abhyudaharana

**Author's Note:**

> Content warnings in the author’s note at the end, to avoid spoilers.

It is late afternoon when Mandavi pads into her husband's study. Scrolls surround him where he sits, on a straw mat with a low table before him. So intent he is on the document before him that he does not notice her entry. His muscles are stiff with tension, she can tell, and they coil in surprise when she rests a hand on his shoulder, before relaxing.

"I am going to the palace, to spend a few days with our mothers, and Shrutakirti as well," she whispers, her statement half a question as well. She hopes he does not think she is abandoning him.

Bharata does not take offense. She sleeps by his side on the ground, here in Nandigram, and rules Ayodhya as interim queen just as he rules as interim king. Mandavi presses her cheek against his, and she feels rather than sees his face soften - just for a moment. It is all he will allow himself, while there are still sandals on the throne.

Even in the morass of his guilt, Bharata can look back and marvel at how in love they are now. There was nothing legendary about their union, such as breaking Shiva's bow, or being of similarly passionate temperaments, as Lakshmana and Urmila had been when they first met. Their marriage was one of convenience, born out of Mithila having four daughters and Ayodhya four sons. They had done their duty, and became fond enough of one another while living in the palaces of Kosala and Kekaya, during the two years between their marriage and King Dasharatha's death.

But Nandigram was where they had both been tested. Deprived of so many and so much, they'd been forced to rely on each other as they fulfilled a destiny for which neither of them had been prepared. And in doing so, the casual affection between them had grown into one of true respect and love: not the spark that had been between his father and Queen Kaikeyi, but built day by day, until it was solid.

Mandavi sets off on foot for the palace, alone. She could have arranged for a chariot, or a small escort of guards, but she had declined both. Her refusal was not borne of any scorn for ceremony and pomp, although for nearly a decade she has abided by her husband's vow of austerity. She wants to walk slowly and sedately, letting the people come to her as they will and speak with them. There is little she enjoys about ruling as interim queen, but she has come to look forward to this part: to speaking with Ayodhya's common folk as an equal and not as a princess, to knowing that her subjects' lives are bettered by her work, to seeing it with her own eyes.

A young girl scampers up to her as she enters the marketplace, and Mandavi braids her hair into two plaits. She observes a cobbler at work and learns how a shoe is mended. She tries her hand at haggling for a brace of mangoes, and when she has finally negotiated a reasonable price, she is rather proud of herself.

The sun is low in the sky, painting a red-gold dusk, as she turns onto a back alley so that she might enjoy a respite from the bustle of the marketplace. Mandavi is wrapping the mangoes into the drape of her sari so that she might carry them more easily, when strong hands suddenly grab her. The assailant approached her from behind, so she cannot see his face, but she can feel his fingers digging into the flesh of her upper arms. He bodily _throws_ Mandavi over his shoulder like a sack of rice and begins to run.

She screams out.

She comes alive like a feral creature, snarling and kicking and thrashing, but it's no use. In the span of seconds, he has hauled her into a nearby house and slammed the door behind him. She's dumped onto the floor unceremoniously.

Disoriented, she cannot rely on her eyes, but her ears tell her that there are others within the dwelling, by their footsteps and their low voices. More hands grab at her, this time stripping her of her few ornaments, and as her vision returns, she can see that they are all men, their faces alight with greed and glee.

And suddenly things pick up pace. They will not violate her, but still hold her captive through the night. The whole of Ayodhya will learn of her disappearance and be searching, before she returns to Nandigram in the morning, bruised and in tears.

And suddenly she is Bharata, sitting on his throne of kusha-grass, and his subjects are crying out. They suspect her, they say, and they demand that he cast her aside. "A shameless woman, wandering the streets like a lady of the night!"

"She only wanted to connect with her subjects, to meet with them," Bharata says, the timbre of his voice sonorous and belying none of his agitation. "To serve them as a queen does."

"We are not _her_ subjects!"

"She is a liar!"

"A false queen! A false queen for a false king."

The crowd swarms and throngs into a horde, and Bharata thinks the world has never seemed so small, as Kosala seems to swell before him. "She spent all night in a house of men, and still you think to sit her beside you. If you are truly Lord Rama's regent, you'll get rid of her. Or are you like your father, old Dasharatha, dancing to a pretty lady's tune?"

Bharata wakes up, drenched in sweat and those last words ringing in his ears. His heart pounds in his throat and in his teeth.

Slowly, painfully slowly, he realizes that he is in his old palatial chambers, not Nandigram, and that Mandavi sleeps safely beside him. It was only a dream.

But it is his reality.

Not Mandavi, but Sita _Bhabhi_ who was stolen away, and although she was rescued, her world still burned to ash. Mandavi _hates_ Rama for it. Lakshmana is self-flagellating himself for doing this to his _Bhabhi_ , and reeling at how his _Bhaiyya_ could ask this of him. Urmila will not speak to her husband, Rama dwells in a private hell of his own, Shatrughna and Shrutakirti cling to each other, and in the midst of everyone else's outrage, Bharata feels singularly alone.

Of course he is similarly bereft. Nothing will ever fill the hole that _Bhabhi_ left behind. He shares their grief, yes, but not their anger, because he also served as a king for fourteen years. Most unwillingly, but ably, and he remembers how difficult it was to win the people's respect when all they wanted was Rama. The whole populace had mistrusted him and accused him of being his mother's co-conspirator. He looked like a coward who fled the kingdom, hiding in Kekaya while his mother did his dirty work for him. And even after they accepted he had had no role in the coup, they still had scant faith he would be a tenth of the ruler that Rama would have been.

Mother's eleventh-hour ultimatum upended everything for him, in ways that no one could ever understand.

Winning Ayodhya's respect and trust and establishing his authority had been the work of his life. He had to show himself to be firm but fair and keep his thumb on the pulse of the people. He was never confronted with such a clash of _dharmas_ as _Bhaiyya_ faced, but he knows the compromises a king must make.

As long as _Bhaiyya_ dwelled in the forest, Bharata had refused to enjoy any luxuries, but Mandavi had divided her time between Nandigram and the palace, so that she might serve both her husband and her mothers-in-law. She often went alone, as it was not too far a distance, and Bharata never gave it a moment's thought. But looking back, anything could have happened, and if her reputation was compromised, thereby endangering his reign…

He would have done his best to defend her - his faithful, loyal Mandavi - but holding onto her could have threatened his throne. Not because he lusted for power, but because the kingdom needed stability, after all it had been through. Even now, the quandary gives him nightmares, and because of it, he cannot hate _Bhaiyya_ the way the rest of them do.

And against the impotency of everyone else's anger, that thought feels like the worst of betrayals.

His tossing and turning wakes Mandavi, and of course when he tells her to go back to sleep, she is not fooled. She knows him too well. She coaxes out of him the first part of his dream, her abduction. Humiliatingly, as he is narrating, his hands shake. Mandavi clasps them with her own, smooths his tousled hair, whispers that she's right here with him. It does nothing to calm him.

He relates the second part, about the malcontents, and Mandavi's soothing demeanor turns righteously indignant. "Of course you never would have done that. You are a thousand times the man Rama is." She shifts so that she is looking directly at him, her expression intense in the thin moonlight. "There are times when I think you should have kept the throne for yourself."

Words of treason roll so easily off her tongue, like eggs off a cliff, and Bharata wants to agree, to match her anger, but he cannot. He thinks of nodding along, of rubbing her shoulders and slipping back into sleep.

But guilt has been burning at the back of his throat for ages. He lived with remorse for fourteen years, and he learned that the best antidote was action, whether it be journeying to Chitrakoot to bring Rama back or serving the kingdom from Nandigram. Inaction only worsens the guilt. And he does not want to keep secrets from his wife. His mother and father loved each other fiercely but not wisely. They did not voice their fears properly until it was too late, and Ayodhya paid the price for their missteps. Mandavi deserves the truth, bitter or sweet, even if she hates him for it.

So he confesses his muddled sympathy for Rama.

Mandavi is still and silent for a long while, and Bharata does not expect her to reply. In truth, there are no answers to his questions. What matters is that she does not recoil or draw away, but listens, and then nods very solemnly and slowly, and gently rubs his shoulders, thick with tension he did not realize was there.

It is a testament to Mandavi, who loves Sita as much as he does Rama, that she can hear such a revelation and still hold him close like this, a testament to what they have built. He thinks of his parents, and his eldest brother and sister, and thinks _We are more than what came before us._

"But whatever I decided," he says suddenly, with a burst of certainty, wrapping his arms around her, "I would have let you know. I would have trusted you. I would have told you before dropping you in the forest with no warning. I would have said farewell to you, with my own lips, to your ears, and not relied on someone else to do it."

And there is the crux of Mandavi's anger, he knows, that Rama denied Sita the dignity of a final conversation. Her bafflement that the scion of the Ikshvakus can rid the earth of rakshasas but could not do his wife that last courtesy. After all that they had been to each other, Sita was owed that much at least, even if for the good of the kingdom, she had to be set aside. Either because of his cowardice or his callousness, Rama denied her that.

It is his most unforgivable offence, and nothing can ever convince Mandavi otherwise. And ultimately, although Bharata can never hate his oldest brother, nor will he ever revere him the way he once did.

He embraces Mandavi more tightly. In response, she wraps her arms around him, and buries her head into his chest.

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings for abduction and period-typical victim blaming.


End file.
